Trying to Tell You
by ThisShipSailsItsSelf
Summary: Johns POV. Things start to go missing around the flat, and John has his suspicions about who's behind it. What he can't guess at, is WHY. So this is romance, but very tame. More fluff than anything. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Trying to Tell You

At first, John just thinks that he simply has too much on his mind. Being flatmates with a mad-genius-man-child who insists on running about the back alleys and rooftops of London at all hours of the night tends to have that affect. Not to mention working at the clinic, dealing with Harry, and attempting to have a social life. So yeah, when he starts to lose track of things, he doesn't think too much of it. He has a busy life and a messy flat. It happens.

As time goes on, however, he begins to notice a pattern. For one thing, it's always something he needs when he plans to go out. It starts out small: a missing hairbrush on a bad hair day, a miss placed phone number from a pretty girl, his most flattering sweater nowhere to be found. Frustrating, but none of it raises any red flags. He chalks it up to being scatter-brained, or tired, or both, and moves on.

Then it begins to escalate. _He's planning on going to the pub to meet up with some mates_? All his shoes are gone. His clothes, freshly ironed a moment ago, are mysteriously wrinkled again. _Going out on a date?_ His wallet disappears. The door to the bathroom locks somehow, and he has to go down and use Mrs. Hudson's bathroom to wash up. He unfailingly shows up to a restaurant with his date to be told he's got the reservation time wrong._ No matter how many times he takes to calling beforehand to double check_. And always, _always,_ Sherlock is innocently busy with an experiment and a well-crafted blasé statement about the _idiocy of normal people_. Suspicious to say the least. But John is a patient man, and besides, he really _could_ just be being paranoid.

All the same, there is something in Sherlock's eyes, when John asks him about whatever the catastrophe of the moment is, that unsettles him. Something fleeting and undefined. John knows he's intentionally shying away from examining further, but he can't help it. He is consumed with the feeling that whatever this is about, it can't lead to anything good. So he lets even these more ostentatious warning bells slide without comment.

When he goes to leave for a date one Friday night, though, only to find all the furniture from the living room piled in front of the door, he's officially had enough. To hell with the consequences, this needs to end. Now.

"SHERLOCK!"

**A/N I've said it before, but **_**poor John.**_** It can't be easy haha although he IS being a little intentionally dense in this one, so poor Sherlock too! This is just a little idea that struck me today and wouldn't leave me alone, but I hope you like it! I *think* there's going to be one more chapter.**

**If anyone's curious about that new major story I've been working on… not going so well haha but it HAS inspired several excellent shorter fic's in an attempt to procrastinate, so that's a plus :D **


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock looks up from where he is seated, cross-legged on the floor. "Yes John?" He asks, sounding vaguely annoyed. As though he has no idea what John is disturbing him for.

"What the hell are you up to, Sherlock!"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm sitting on the floor."

"That is _not_ what I'm referring to and you know it." He replies angrily. "Why have you barricaded the front door?"

"Oh that….simple really, I have piled all the furniture from the living room in front of our door because you are supremely thick." He says, sounding infuriatingly matter-of-fact.

"I…what? What does that…no. Nope. Never mind. Just please clear this stuff up, I have to go."

Suddenly the genius morphs from unbearably superior to childlike and petulant. "I refuse." He declares, crossing his arms to complete the look.

John could kill him. He really could. He takes a deep breathe, and tries to keep his voice under control as he asks, "And why, may I ask?"

"Stop being obtuse." His flatmate snaps as he stands up suddenly, and strides over until he is right on the brink of John's personal space. "I made you tea, John. _Tea_."

John is so confused by this sudden change in subject, he makes the mistake of looking Sherlock in the eye. And there, right there, is the look. The one he's been dodging all this time. Only this time, it's not a brief flicker, it's a steady burn. And it holds him there, unable to look away. That is, until he gets a text.

The sudden chime of his phone seems to snap them both out of it, and John takes the opportunity to step back as he pulls out his phone.

**Where are you? -LB**

"It's from Lori, Sherlock. I'm late. Just please help move this stuff." He pleads.

He's not looking, but he can still feel Sherlock's eyes on him, taking him in. Finally the detective speaks, "No. If you are so very _desperate_ to leave me, you can get out on your own." And with that, he stalks off into his room, closing the door with a bang.

John's phone goes off again. He knows it's probably Lori. That he should text, her. Let her know he might be a little late. That he should get started on clearing the furniture. Instead, he stares after Sherlock and wonders why he suddenly feels like a protagonist in a story, standing at an inevitable metaphorical crossroad.

**A/N I got a little meta with that last sentence there... oh well. More importantly, these boys seriously need to work on their communication skills! Lol So I purposefully tried to make Sherlock a little hard to follow, because, well, **_**John isn't following**_**. Everything should be cleared up next chapter though :)**

**I know I said this last chapter but…should just be one more chapter!**

**Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

John lets out a huff, and heads toward Sherlock's room. He texts Lori quickly, not even really paying attention to what excuse he's giving. He doubts he'll hear from her again anyways, so it hardly matters. Sherlock trumps all, as per usual. Even when he's being an arse.

He knocks quietly, but gets no response. Angry that his friend is giving him _the silent treatment_, of all things, after_ he_ was the one who's been causing trouble, John bangs on the door. "Sherlock? Will you stop acting like a dramatic teenager and come out and talk to me!"

Nothing but silence. John sighs, his hands and forehead pressed flat against the wood of the door. Time for a change in tactics.

He speaks softly, but knows Sherlock is listening. "Whatever it is that's going on here, I'm in the dark, Sherlock, and as always, I'm going to need you to shed some light. Just like at a crime scene yeah? I blunder about and you come in and make everything clear and simple. Make everything okay." His voice breaks a little, and he takes a deep, calming breath. "Sherlock, please. Just…please." He feels a blush heat up his face, he hadn't meant to sound so… vulnerable.

It is this moment, of course, that Sherlock decides to finally open the door. His face a careful mask. John can see he's in full self-defence mode. He sighs, something he seems to do a lot of when in the presence of his genius flatmate.

"I'm going to go make some tea, if you want some. And then I'd like to have a little talk about what the _bloody hell_ has been going on around here."

Sherlock doesn't say anything. No sign that he's even heard John. But he knows the detective heard every word, because he's doing his _thing_. In his head, John calls it the 'Holmes Creepy Vodoo Mind Meld.' Basically, it involves Sherlock staring very intently while he plots out exactly how the conversation is going to go. Everything he plans to say. Everything he predicts (usually correctly, the smug bastard) the other person is going to say. The result of which has led to John being told off for things he hasn't even said yet in regards to topics that have never been brought up.

He's also been witness to many a silent argument between to the two brothers. He has to admit, it's much funnier when it's not happening to him. Sometimes he just sits back with his tea and makes up his own dialogue between the two. It's like a bad dubbing, but better. Sometimes he pictures them insulting each other in cockney accents. Sometimes it's a western style show down. One particularly hilarious day he had them doing scenes from Monty Python in his head while they obliviously raged at each other silently. They'd been so wrapped up in their mental chess game they didn't even notice when John dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

But sadly, this time it isn't happening to Mycroft, it is happening to him. "Stop that. I know what you're doing, and I'd appreciate it if you gave me the chance to speak for myself. That is, once you've told me what we're talking about."

He ignores Sherlock's taken aback expression and heads to the kitchen. This is definitely going to require tea.

**A/N I should never make predictions about how many chapters my stories are going to be, because I am ALWAYS wrong haha So stay tuned for yet another chapter!**

**Oh! And if you can come up with a better name for Sherlock's mind-conversations, suggest away! I just wrote down the first thing that came to mind and I'm not sure I like it.**


	4. Chapter 4

If John wasn't so irritated he would probably be laughing hysterically. He is a grown man sitting on the floor of his living room with his equally adult flatmate having what looks for all the world like a god damn _tea party._ All they need is a few teddy bear 'guests' to complete the look.

Not even his annoyance can quell the laughter bubbling up from the thought of Sherlock offering a stuff toy some scones, and he bursts out laughing. And he must have been seriously on edge because once he starts, he can't stop for a long while. Sherlock bristles at first, but eventually even he has to join in.

When they finally calm down a little, John asks, "Seriously, Sherlock. How did we get here?"

Sherlock gives him another _you are such an idiot_ look, "You said we needed tea, and I followed and then-"

"No," John cuts in, "I meant how did we get to be sitting on the floor of our living room, with a door blocked by what appears to be everything not nailed down you could get your hands on, in the time it took me to shower and get changed for my date?" Sherlock has the grace to look sheepish. "And while we're on the subject, how about we address the missing shoes, wallets and phone numbers around here?"

Here Sherlock begins to mumble incoherently about bad luck, but John presses on. "The reservation mix-ups and mysteriously jammed doors? I think you'll agree that even _my_ luck can't be that consistently bad."

"Fine." Sherlock huffs. "It was me, happy? I have been consistently sabotaging your outings for weeks now. Obviously."

"Okay, but why?"

"Boring. Here's a better question. Why have you been ignoring it?"

"My question is not boring!"

"Yes, it is. You know the answer. I know the answer." He waves his hand dismissively. "Now stop deflecting. Why have you been ignoring my actions John?"

"I'm not the one who's-" John stops. He needs to get under control or Sherlock will just stomp off again. "Alright, we'll come back to that. And I've been attempting to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Without warning, Sherlock stands, "You know what, John. I don't know why I thought you would be understanding. This is a waste of time. I have experiments to work on."

John is dumbfounded. What did he say? He'd been trying so hard to avoid exactly this. He stands up and grabs Sherlock's arm as the detective attempts to turn away. "Sherlock wait! Just stop!" He cries out, but the genius just keeps trying to wrench his arm away.

"Let me go John. I will not stay here and listen to you lie to me!" He shouts, and in the back of Johns mind he's grateful Mrs. Hudson is out tonight. That prick of worry about propriety fades out completely as Sherlock keeps shouting, "It's not _me_ you were giving the benefit of the doubt to. You knew perfectly well what I was doing and why. It was _you._ You who needed the doubt. So you wouldn't have to try and wrap your stupid little excuse for a brain around the truth!"

"_Jesus Sherlock!_ What. Truth." He demands, his voice raised in anger as well at this point.

"That I love you, you simpleton!" The moment the words are out, everything stops. They both stop moving, John's hand frozen on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looks, for the first time ever since John met him, like he would gladly sell his soul to take back his words.

"…You love me?" John whispers.

"Look John it's obviously not something you're comfortable with this so just delete it or something."

"You love me."

"Yes John. Okay? The great Sherlock Holmes has fallen prey to a mere chemical defect! Good God I even made you tea the other day. I don't know what I was thinking. So just… shut up about it."

"You tried to keep me from leaving… out to the bar… out on dates. You wanted me here because _you love me…"_

"Will you please stop?"

Sherlock saying please. That wakes John up a bit. He _has_ been an idiot. He sees that now. How could he have been so blind? He looks up at Sherlock and is taken aback. _He looks embarrassed._ A day of many firsts, apparently. John realizes his best friend has just confessed his love and he's been an absolute prat about it so far. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry" he begins.

Sherlock's eyes widen as though Johns words have physically slapped him. He finally pulls free and is about to leave, but John is quick and manages to grab hold of the detectives hand instead. Sherlock stares down at their joined hands intently, like he's memorizing it, which he probably is. Then he looks up at his blogger questioningly.

John tries again. "I'm not sorry about your feelings Sherlock. I'm sorry about the way I reacted. This is sort of uncharted territory for me." He looks up into Sherlock's eyes. "I can see that you were right to call me willfully ignorant, and I also see why you've been so frustrated with me. Again, I am so, so sorry." The detectives looks slightly less like he's about to bolt any second, and he takes that as a good sign. "I wish I could tell you how I feel, but I'm not sure I know myself right now." He finishes with a nervous laugh.

John waits for Sherlock's reaction. Finally, his flatmate speaks, "What about an experiment?"

"What kind?" John asks hesitantly.

"One kiss. To see how you feel about it."

John doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. He's never kissed another man before, and he's never wanted to. But this is Sherlock, and that shouldn't make a difference, but it does. And he trusts him. He also can't help but feel like he owes the man something after everything that's happened today.

"Right then" He says with a confirming nod.

Sherlock steps closer, and brings his hand up to John's face. John's whole body is alight with nerves as Sherlock moves closer, and then their lips touch and the nerves are gone. He responds to the kiss almost immediately.

When they eventually break apart, they're both a little breathless. He smiles at Sherlock and says, "I suppose all those dates _have_ been rather useless, haven't they? To think I could have been using my time so much more wisely here." And he laughs. He laughs because Sherlock is mad and the world is mad and so is he, and he is in love with Sherlock Holmes. Nothing has ever made him so happy.

Sherlock laughs to and says as he moves in for another kiss, "I've been _trying_ to tell you."

**A/N I smiled like an absolute idiot the whole time I wrote that ending :) Hope you've all had as much fun reading it!**

**So we're at the end of this story, but I've had so much fun I just might write a sequel if anyone would be interested, no promises though haha Anyways, let me know what you thought!**


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